


This Isn't Bourbon

by triptocaine



Category: Epic (2013)
Genre: AU human, F/M, ronin can't talk to women, ronin is an embarassed mess, short fic, specifically tara, tara is a bartender, tara is glorious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4303356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triptocaine/pseuds/triptocaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronin just wanted a hard drink after a long day. The drink in question didn't end up being hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Isn't Bourbon

**Author's Note:**

> Something I was supposed to write about two months ago.

                Ronin’s feet dragged as he walked towards the bar. A long day of training and a hard day of work ended up with a glass of some very hard bourbon. A good double on the rocks of Knob Creek’s to sip would surely help make the pain in his legs and biceps go numb. For the time being anyway.

                As he stepped into the bar, Ronin moved to the far corner. Mainly because it was his spot, and secondly, he didn’t much care for most the regular crowd. He placed his jacket on the far end of the bar against the wall, and shifted so his feet rested against the base of the cherry wood stool.

                He tried to keep his mind away from the loud noises, checking his phone every once in a while to see his adoptive son’s text claiming he was ‘going out for a while, be home by curfew’. Haha, no doubt to make eating face with his new summer flame, M.K. He responded to the text, telling him to be quiet when he did return, knowing very well that that wasn’t likely to happen.

                He didn’t have to look up at the bartender as they neared closer to him, knowing that it was most likely a familiar face, he opened his mouth to order. He stopped when two dark and smooth hands came into view, crossing in front of their chest.

                “What’ll you have?” came the voice, angelic and sweet.

                Ronin’s eyes moved up wrist, to shoulder, to slender neck, to painted glossy lips, to neat up-do, to dark honey eyes enhanced perfectly with light eye-shadow and dark eyeliner. One word came to mind: _stunning_.

                His mouth stayed open, the bourbon order leaving his mouth without a word, and dropping to the floor. The woman smiled, her bottom eyelids lifting to lighten her eyes, a small bit of laughter in them.

                Ronin couldn’t find his words, incoherent stuttering coming out as well. And a set of words that caused the stunning dark woman to let out a laugh. A hearty one. One that caused her to throw her head back some, her mouth open to show off her glittering white teeth and laugh lines on her beautiful brown skin.

                “Coming right up then, Irish,” she gave one final smile and wink before she faced away to start putting together his drink. Ronin sat in awe, feeling his face heat up. There were two, final conclusions that this was coming to. One: this was not the bartender he was used to. He was used to a redheaded 30-something year old man, let along her stunning beauty. And two: whatever he said about bourbon caused one of the best laughs he’d seen in years.

                Though, when she came back, drink in her hand, he realized the third conclusion.

                This wasn’t bourbon.

                This was chocolate milk.

                Ronin felt his face heat up more as he put them in his hands. How embarrassing.

                “You know,” the woman with the laughter in her voice started up conversation. “Most people who come through those doors don’t normally ask for chocolate milk. But it seems like you’ve had a rough day, so I put some dark chocolate syrup in there for you.”

                Ronin could have screamed into his hands from how much embarrassment he felt. He apologized, and conversation started. ‘I meant a bourbon,’ he had stated about ten minutes into the conversation and inevitably, two chocolate milks later. That only caused the beautiful woman, named Tara, to laugh that wonderful laugh of hers again.

                The night ended with a tab of $5.50 instead of his normal pricey drinks, as well as a glossy lip mark on the receipt. Ronin tipped her much more than 20%, leaving the bar with a glance over her shoulder, and catching her contagious smile.

                He was more open to coming back when she was working, to have another glass of chocolate milk. As long as he got to hear that laugh again.


End file.
